


Morning Aches

by Erised_Rain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erised_Rain/pseuds/Erised_Rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus’s mind is heavy, slow, dulled by alcohol and last night’s smoke-thick air. All his memories are fogged and watery, tasting like salty lemons and too many cigarettes, but he remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Aches

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Lana, who likes happy endings, believes in the green light, buys me coffee even when it's my turn to pay, reads my crazy stories and doesn't think I'm mental (hopefully). I hope this will brighten your day a bit! (:

Remus wakes, slow and hazy, with that cataclysmic feeling like he is all alone in this world, like perhaps, this very morning, he has slept through the evacuation of the planet. Carefully he stretches, feeling the woolen touch of blankets on his skin, damp and twisted around his legs like snakes. With eyes closed against the April sun, he checks for his morning aches.

Left Achilles? There. Right meniscus? There. Fifth vertebrae? There. It’s alright. _We’re all here_ , he thinks heavily.

But there is something else here, sharing Remus’s bed, breathing Remus’s air, taking way too much space. There’s a taste of Firewhiskey and cheap Muggle Tequilla on his tongue, stars behind his eyelids if he moves his head too much, a spot on his neck made by impatient teeth, playful smile, laughing eyes and way too much drink; red and wonderful and terrifying against the silver-pale skin.

There is heat of someone else’s body next to his, warm and steady puff of someone's breath on his neck, someone’s possessive hand splayed across his belly. He fears to turn around and look because he knows what he will see. Remus’s mind is heavy, slow, dulled by alcohol and last night’s smoke-thick air. All his memories are fogged and watery, tasting like salty lemons and too many cigarettes, but he remembers.

He remembers the pub, grey and Muggle, way too crowded for Remus’s liking. He remembers Peter vomiting all over some nice girl’s shoes which, unfortunately, put an end to his valiant attempts at getting into her pants. He remembers how James jumped on the table and with a voice thick with whiskey recited one of Lord Byron’s poems (Remus thinks it might have been his personal interpretation of  _She walks in_ _beauty_.) _'_

 _The smiles that win, the TITS that glow,' Oy Padfoot, and you said I wasn’t poetic!  Laddie_ , (laddie being the bartender roughly fifthy one and a half years older than any of them) _gimme another one, my muse is fucking thirsty! There’s poetry to be made, girls to be woed! Not me ladies, such a heartbreak I know, but take a look at these fine gentlemen over here. This one reads real books, very smart I tell you,  that one is a right, perfect arse but look at him;hell, I’d give him some. And thi- hey Pete? You okay, mate?_ )

He remembers Sirius laughing, wide-eyed and beautiful, burning. Remus remembers how his stomach, the treacherous bastard, was doing some weirdly ulcerish things when Sirius kissed him in the loo. The tap was leaking – _drip, drip, drip_ \- as Sirius pinned him against the cold, dirty wall, a smile on his lips cutting Remus to pieces. He remembers breathes, bites, sounds, Sirius’s tongue licking a wet path down his throat, the exact shape of Sirius's mouth on his neck. He remembers Sirius’s fingertips stirring ancient magic beneath his skin, making grey, dusty pieces of Remus come alive. A pyromaniac he is, dark and twisted, starting wild fires in Remus’s bones, in Remus’s flesh, between his toes, between his shoulder blades, in every inch of him.

But now it’s morning. New, bright, smarter, sober morning.

And the joke is on Remus for being stupid enough to let this happen. Now they’ve made a mistake and there is no going back. Because Remus is head over heels in love with him, has been for nearly five years, and, Merlin help him, that is stupid and dangerous and downright masochistic because Sirius Black doesn’t know what love is. He takes what he wants and gives nothing in return. He doesn’t know, doesn’t understand how you can burn for someone, how you can love and dread and rescue, from dungeons, from sickness, from fear; how you can pat someone’s head, brush shoulders,  tuck your nose into the curve of a neck and bleed and love and die at the same time. _No matter what_ , Remus thinks, _this will end in tears_.

It serves him right, doesn't it,  for being so stupid, so dumb to give his heart to the only person in the world who had the ability to crush it between careless fingers.

Remus shifts and freezes when Sirius’s very much awake hand moves lazily, fingers tucking into the curve of Remus’s hipbone. Slow press of lips on the back of his neck makes Remus dizzy and he has to close his eyes and bite his lip.

“Good morning, Moony.” Sirius spills the words against his skin, easily, recklessly, and pulls Remus closer with a content sigh.

Remus can’t speak. He has no words, no thoughts, his mind is completely blank which is fairly ridiculous, what with all the pranks, stories, plans, sketches, books and late-night-essays in it.

“I know you’re awake, you’ve been panicking internally for the last twenty minutes. Woke me up with all that noise.” he smiles, something Remus can feel before he can hear it because there is no space between them, not even an inch, only the warmth of Sirius’s body scorching his back.

“Sirius.” he says.

“Hmm?” Sirius's voice curls lazily around the word, brushing Atlas and Axis of Remus’s spine.

“I…”

A startled noise escapes Remus’s mouth when Sirius moves his hips forward, slow and languid, hardness pressing against Remus’s arse. He is placing open-mouthed kisses to Remus’s neck and his hand leaves the safety of Remus’s hip and moves up, tracing an outline of the scar that ends right below Remus’s left nipple. Sirius pauses there, fingertips feeling the hysterical beat of Remus’s heart.

“I shouldn’t have.” he confesses. Remus’s world sinks but, godammit, he’s a grown man, he knew this was coming from the moment Sirius gave him that look and grabbed him between thighs under the table murmuring _‘Loo. Five minutes’,_  and now he has to deal with it. You reap what you sow, people say. You break what you fuck, more like it.

“I-it’s alright, Sirius. It was my fault. We were drunk and – _ah_!” he arches as Sirius pinches his nipple.

“Shut it, tosser. I didn’t mean _that_.” he smirks into Remus’s hair. “I meant I shouldn’t have done that _yesterday_. We were pissed and all...but I wanted you so much. I just couldn’t…I couldn’t stop myself, you just do things to me, mess with my brain and I don’t think…I’m sorry.”

Something must be wrong with Remus’s hearing because he thinks he has just heard Sirius Black apologizing and confessing he fancied him. “I do things to you? W-what things?” is all that Remus can mumble.

“Specifically? You shagged me rotten last night. Twice.” Sirius laughs lightly, noise that lingers in the air. “Come on, you know what things. Why does that surprise you so much?” he murmurs, another roll of his hips leaving Remus breathless.

“I’ve wanted to do this for years, Remus.”

 _Well, fuck it -_  thinks Remus deliriously. He tries to catch his words before they run away, tangible, and hide in the dust-heavy curtains of his room, in the half-dead cactus on the table, or in the shell of Sirius’s ear, but he’s too slow. “I didn’t…” he stutters. ”I’ve wanted too, that, this, _you,_ Sirius…oh. _I want you_.”

“Got that much last night." Sirius snickers smugly. "Guess James was right, we both are dense as mentally challenged Pigmy Puffs and fucking cowards. James’s words not mine.” Sirius’s breath hitches. “Mmm, when I think what I was missing out on.”

Dense as Pigmy Puffs, indeed. Remus laughs, warm, sun-flecked around the edges, and shifts on top of Sirius. Sirius is beautiful beneath him; grey eyes wide, dark hair tousled, mouth parted, looking up at him _like that,_ with sunlight between his eyelashes _,_ sharing his bed, his space, his air.

“So you’re not sorry?” Sirius asks, shy insecurity coloring his cheeks cherry-red. It reminds Remus of summer and bruised knees and boys climbing trees in the Potters back yard. Remus finds it time-stopping. “You won’t throw me out now, have a bloody meltdown and never speak to me again?

“Only if you start shedding all over my couch.” Remus whispers, leaning down to properly kiss the man who has been making his knees weak for five whole years. “But less speaking would be appreciated right now. I feel like doing things to you again.” he smirks, shifting the angle of his hips. The creak of old bedstrings mutes a sharp moan coming from Sirius’s lips, but it doesn’t matter, because Remus has already swallowed it all.

With eyes closed against the sun, the morning, the war, against the world and April in London, Remus checks for his morning aches.

Left Achilles? There. Right meniscus? There. Fifth vertebrae? There. Heart enlarged and heartbeats skipped under Sirius’s fingertips? It’s alright. _We’re all here_ , he thinks, _finally_. All here.

 


End file.
